Sanity
by glambertcello
Summary: Loki questions his past when he wakes up in a mental hospital and is told his real name is Luke and that he has schizophrenia. I do not own the Avengers! Oneshot. Yes, it is a bizarre story, but the idea kept pestering me.


**[I don't think I was meant for Loki stories, haha!**

**I'm just going to warn you; this oneshot is extremely weird, and cuts off suddenly. It ****_is_**** meant to be a oneshot, although people are totally welcome to continue it if they really want to (just let me know if you do). It took me long enough just to write it; this almost 2,500 word story took me two months. That's pretty bad for me.**

**But, warning aside, I hope you enjoy this!]**

The first thing—upon achieving consciousness—Loki noticed was _exhaustion_, exhaustion that had taken over his whole body. The next was a bed, a stiff bed and a stiff pillow that supported his body while he had slept.

_I don't recall falling asleep in a bed_, Loki mused to himself, finally exposing his pale eyes to the dim room. _Odd. I do not remember a place that looked like this_.

The god of trickery was in a small room, about the size of an average bedroom. Underneath him was a twin bed, covered in a ratty blanket and containing a faded, plain pillow. Other than that and some white object along the wall that he had seen Midgardians use, the room was clear of all furniture, bare and dull and entirely _gray_. It was almost as uninteresting as the cage Fury had locked him in; except, in that case, Loki had been there of his own free will, although S.H.I.E.L.D. was too idiotic to realize it.

However, this place… he didn't remember wanting to come here, let alone _recognize_ it. It was as foreign as many of the locations on Midgard.

Looking down at himself, the god flinched when he noticed his normal attire was absent from his thin frame. Instead, he wore a faded green shirt—it must've once been the same shade as his eyes—and a pair of short pants composed of some odd, tan fabric. On his feet were awkward-looking shoes, only attached to his feet by what he would call a harness.

_Why am I wearing this odd Midgardian garb?_

Just as he was beginning to pull at the fabric of his pants, the door to the room opened, revealing a woman behind it. She wore a crisp white shirt, a brown skirt framing her hips appropriately. Her flaming curls were pinned atop her head, and she balanced some piece of technology in her hands.

Although she was not dressed as she traditionally was, Loki knew he would _never_ mistake her.

With a menacing grin coming across his face, he sneered, "So, it appears as though the spider has come to play. Shall it be the battle of the wits, like the last time we spoke?"

Instead of answering the trickster's question, the assassin mumbled, "Interesting," and pressed several buttons on her device. _What was so interesting?_ Loki wondered, studying the Russian woman.

Finally glancing up, she smiled at him with sickening _politeness_, as if she was required to. Holding her hands loosely in front of her—both cradling the technology with an almost _tenderness_—she inquired, "How did you sleep, Luke?"

Baffled—what was this she called him?—Loki asked, "What is this name you call me? This _Luke?_" he spat out the name, as if it was a poisonous fruit and he had accidentally tried to eat it. "My name is Loki, Agent Romanoff. Loki, son of Laufey, and I am the rightful king of Asgard."

A slight look of concern crossed the agent's face as she began pressing buttons again, saying, "It sounds as if your delusions are worse today, Luke. Did you take the medicine that Doctor Banner gave you?"

"I-" For once, Loki had no idea what to say. "What medicine? I am not in need of medical attention!" He realized his voice was raising, but he enjoyed scaring the spider. She was dull whenever she wasn't terrified. "What is this medicine you _speak_ of?!"

Not even bothering to look up from her device, she answered, "The medication for your schizophrenia. It's supposed to help, Luke. Didn't Mister Stark explain it to you when you were admitted?"

Schizophrenia? What was this _schizophrenia?!_ It sounded foreign, and disgusting on one's tongue. And where had he been admitted to?

And, where was his staff?

"Quit mocking me, Black Widow," he hissed. "Now tell me, where have you hidden my staff?"

Sighing loudly, as if he was trying her patience—which was not quite the effect he was going for, unfortunately—she informed him, "It is by your bedside, like always."

Shocked that he hadn't noticed it, he spun his head, only to find that this so-called "staff" was basically a long stick, carvings created on the side of it to make it cheaply _sophisticated_ in appearance. Grabbing it in his grip, he held it, studying it in horror. Swiveling his head to stare at Agent Romanoff, he demanded, "Where is my _staff?!_"

"This was the staff you brought when you were admitted," she informed him with a shrug, not really caring about his loss. "Your schizophrenia must've altered it in your mind. Perhaps you should take your medication, Lu-"

"_Loki!_" he hissed, eyes creating daggers in her direction. "My. Name. Is. _Loki_."

"Okay then, _Loki_," she said, her voice almost a sneer on his name. "I'm going to have you meet with Doctor Banner. Make sure you tell him about your delusions." Before he even had a chance to sputter out that those _weren't delusions_, she was already gone. Gone, to go fetch the monster with anger problems.

While the room was empty for the moment, Loki quickly scanned his memories for _what_ could've led to this. All he found was a gap, a huge, empty, black _spot_ in his memory, the most recent event being that Thor had taken him back to Asgard. He had nearly succeeded at taking over Midgard, but that cursed _creature_ had left him injured long enough for the rest of Thor's companions to defeat his army. It had been a humiliating moment.

And yet, he was _certain_ he wouldn't have erased his memories of anything after that. No, he had no ability that could allow for that to happen. If he possessed such a power, he would've erased _everything_, would've started over from scratch.

He wouldn't have left so much behind.

So what was it? _What has led me into this situation?_ he asked himself, staring at the gray walls, as if it had some answer on it that he only needed to decode. He couldn't be insane, could he? The thought of that was… unimaginable.

What aggravated him most was that he didn't know what schizophrenia was. Not entirely. He imagined it had something to do with delusions, but he was not certain.

By the time Bruce Banner entered the room, Loki's mind was completely _riddled_ with questions, and he was so absorbed into his thoughts that he jumped at the sound of the doctor's voice.

"Miss Romanoff tells me you are struggling with taking your medicine," he asked, carrying in a clipboard with notes written on it. "She says that you still think she is the Black Widow."

_But she _is_ the Black Widow,_ he thought to himself, utterly confused at what was happening to him. His defenses clicked on, and he was snarling at the doctor before his mind could even register what was happening, before it could fully move on from perplexity. "And _you_," he hissed, "are still a _monster!_ How does it feel, to know that everything you touch might _die_, might wilt and _rot?_" He was on his feet, slowly stalking toward Doctor Banner, still appearing menacing in his Midgardian clothing.

Much to his surprise, the shy doctor didn't flinch at all. Instead, he was jotting notes down on the clipboard, unphased by Loki's reaction. If that hadn't startled Loki so much, he might've knocked the board out of his hand, kicked him and shown him that he _truly_ was Loki.

Doctor Banner seemed to believe he was nothing more than a mental patient.

"What are you writing?" he asked, his voice choked slightly. He _had_ to know what Doctor Banner was saying about him, because he realized it might be _dire_ to figuring out what was going on.

The doctor glanced up at him, sadness crossing his middle-aged features. Truthfully, he confessed, "That you are struggling with delusions, like you always do when you forget your medication. You think I turn into a giant green creature, that Miss Romanoff is an assassin, that Mister Barton and Mister Rogers are an archer and 'Captain America.' They aren't," he added sadly, watching as Loki's face fell in disbelief. "You also believe you are Loki Laufeyson, sometimes Loki Odinson, but you are only Lucas Laufey. I'm sorry to have to remind you again, but you are only Luke."

Loki couldn't believe this. They _couldn't_ just be average people; hell, they'd _defeated_ him when he tried taking over New York, even if it was just barely. There was no way they could be average doctors and staff, was there? And he _knew _what he was capable was; he was not an ordinary _man!_

Then, he realized who Doctor Banner _hadn't_ brought up. "And what of Thor?" he asked, his voice surprisingly small; there was no will in him to continue his normal tone. He was too stunned. "Who is Thor really?"

There it was, that look. That sympathetic look that made him want to claw at his face, to make the doctor's eyes bleed until they were scratched entirely out. He felt like an animal, just thinking that, but that _look_ made him want to vomit. Instead, his fingernails pierced his palm as he waited for the man to speak. The pain was what he needed to keep himself from losing it.

Finally, when the doctor spoke, he felt his stomach drop with the words. "There is no Thor, Luke."

He barely heard the rest of what Banner was saying—something about being unable to figure out _who_ Thor was—he was so lost in his mind. _There was no Thor._ How could someone so _frustrating_, but yet so _important _to him, not exist? Something wasn't right, but he didn't know _what_ it was.

"You're not listening to me, Luke," Doctor Banner said, his eyes still sickeningly sympathetic. "I know, I can't understand how upsetting this must be for you," he said, a hint of caution in the back of his voice, "but I promise you, if you take your medication, it will get better."

A promise? A promise that he would forget _Thor?_ Glaring at the monster, he hissed, "How can it get _better? _You're telling me that it will be easier to just _forget_ my _brother_, to forget he ever _existed!_ I don't see any consolation in that!" Finally done with meeting with people who swore he was insane, he grabbed his staff and shoved past the doctor, striding out the doors.

Loki was met by hands, the hands of the hawk and the star-spangled man, who gripped his own slender arms tightly, as if he might disappear out of thin air. He snarled at them, fighting their grips until Doctor Banner's voice rose from the room, instructing them to let him walk. The man's head appeared in the doorway, and he said, "Luke, go take a stroll. Release some of your frustrations by walking. Come back when you're ready, okay?"

He nodded his head, quickly moving away from the Avengers. He wasn't even sure anymore if they _were_ members of the Avengers.

Letting his feet lead him, he followed the hallways, trying to find _somewhere _to be. When he'd been powerful, even when he was back on Asgard, he'd _always _had a place to be. He wasn't used to this feeling of being lost, of having _nothing _to do.

As he made a turn, he wondered to himself, _Was any of that real? Was _Asgard _even real? _Doctor Banner had said he struggled with delusions; was _everything _created by his imagination? Was _Loki _even real? _They kept calling me Luke._

Without even realizing it—he was so caught up in his thoughts—he had stepped outside, into a courtyard. There were several people all over, some dressed in normal clothes, some in uniform, some in patient gowns. From somewhere in the yard, a young girl was singing a song with no words, a song full of sorrow. It tickled at his emotions, making him feel mournful for his loss.

Overcome by his despair, Loki—or was it Luke?—staggered over to a bench, using his staff as a crutch, in desperate need to sit down. Burying his head in his hands, he spent several moments focusing on recovering his composure, on fighting back his tears. It was impossible to comprehend this, that everything he knew had been some fabrication of his own imagination. It just didn't feel _right_; it all had felt too real.

Lifting his head up, his eyes focused on the staff in his hands. One of his thumbs traced a circular pattern that had been etched into it, and he wondered how he could possibly believe that _this_ was what he had used to almost defeat the Avengers.

The girl who was singing suddenly broke into another song, this one louder and in another language. Loki's eyes traveled up, focusing on a blond girl of about thirteen. She had just turned so her side was to him, and he could now identify her as the one who was singing. In her hands were two dolls, and she was making them prance across the grass. Just as she made one of them trip, her eyes flashed up at him, connecting with his.

Chills encompassed his spine as he realized that her eyes were not a natural color seen on humans. Rather, they were completely black, dark as if crayoned in.

A cruel smile crossed her lips, and he watched in horror as her skin turned a dark, scaly blue, and her hair whitened. As suddenly as she changed, his surroundings morphed too, changing from a mental asylum to a factory, full of men and women like the little girl.

There were now hundreds of eyes upon him, all of them full of horror at him unveiling their secret.

But he felt no fear. Not when the weight in his hand had changed, had transformed into his staff. He was _not_ Lucas Laufey.

He was Loki, rightful king of Asgard, and these monsters had no chance against his power or intellect.

Just as a hundred bodies pounced, he spun his staff, transporting himself back to a location where he _was_ Loki.


End file.
